


Wine With Ice

by JohnPhillipaSoosa



Category: Inn Between (Podcast)
Genre: Absent Parents, Alcohol, Gen, Parental Reconciliation, because sometimes you listen to an episode of a podcast and are filled with feral energy, drunk conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:14:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25517128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnPhillipaSoosa/pseuds/JohnPhillipaSoosa
Summary: Sterling was never told much about his birth father, until he was told his exact location. And he has questions. So he goes to ask them.Killiker likes a new challenge. This was one he wasn't prepared for.a.k.a. Sterling needs closure and so do I, man, idk. Special thanks to thesnadger on tumblr for the extremely good headcanon about Fina's "The Ballad of the Paladin Disgraced."
Relationships: Meltyre/Sterling Whitetower (implied), Sterling Whitetower & Killiker the Fantastic
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

Sterling watched the little chunk of ice in his wineglass, one of its facets catching the candlelight from the chandelier. The Goblin’s Head was always warm and welcoming, but at the moment he felt as cold and still as stone.

He looked up when heard Meltyre’s voice ask, “You’re sure?”

“Uh…yeah.” Fina looked…ha, sheepish. Embarrassed, which was rare for her. She rubbed the back of her head. “We’re pretty sure.”

“The man looks exactly like Sterling,” Velune said.

“Sounds like him too,” Betty added.

Sterling cleared his throat, which felt like about as much as he could manage as far as movement. “That’s still a rather…spurious connection—”

“He knew your mom,” Fina interrupted him. “We brought her up and he got a fond look in his eye, pretty boy.”

The nickname was meant to soften the blow. It was not successful. Sterling frowned. “That’s hardly conclusive.”

“I know it’s not, but you have to trust me, Sterling,” Fina insisted. “There’s something there.”

Sterling opened his mouth for another denial, and then closed it again. Such a repetition would be useless. And furthermore…there were several other emotions to address first.

“Did you ask about me?” he decided on, finally.

Fina hesitated, and then looked to Velune, who took the cue immediately. “We mentioned you, but he didn’t show any sign of recognition.”

“Do you know how long ago he knew my mother?”

“Years, he said,” Betty answered.

Fina shrugged. “Asking more would have been weird.”

“All this to say, we know where to find him,” Velune said, gently. “If you want to talk to him, that is. He’s in Ambitter.”

“You could go see for yourself,” Betty intoned.

Well he had to, didn’t he? He…he had to go see for himself.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said, hardly realizing what words he was saying.

“Uhhh…there is like…one more little thing,” Fina said, and waved her hand as if to dismiss any concerns. “Hardly matters, really. Not even a big deal. A tiny detail.”

“That doesn’t sound like a tiny detail,” Meltyre said.

“Psshhh, doubting Thomas over here,” Fina scoffed. Deflecting. “Seriously, just a minor…thing.”

“What is it?” Sterling asked.

“Killiker’s a bard,” Fina said.

The word landed in Sterling’s head like an arrow in a bullseye, the only word of this conversation he could actually process. He blinked. “He’s a what?”

*

Sterling stopped outside the North Star Tavern, the only place of any note in Ambitter.

Meltyre was with him—it had only been a day’s ride, and he felt that morning that he would need the support—and he felt Meltyre’s hand on his shoulder. “Do you want me to go in with you, or-or stay out here…?”

Sterling _wanted_ to have worn all his armor. He wanted to go back in time to a week ago, when this wasn’t the only thing he could think about. He wanted to turn around and go home.

Of course, if he did, he’d regret it for the rest of his life.

“Would you…would you mind being across the room? Perhaps step in if I look as though I’m losing my temper?”

“Yeah, I can do that.” Meltyre gave his shoulder a squeeze before letting go.

Sterling took a breath. It felt like the first one he’d had in a while. “Thank you.” He turned to face his dearest friend. “I don’t know what I’m looking for.”

Meltyre frowned thoughtfully. “Answers? Closure?”

Sterling shook his head. Not quite.

“Then maybe…maybe a sense of yourself?” Meltyre suggested. “Everyone wants to know where they came from, you know?”

“Perhaps so.” That certainly sounded closer than anything Sterling could come up with. He squared his shoulders and stood up straight. “All right. I’m ready.”

“Really?”

“No,” Sterling conceded. “But if we don’t go now, I don’t know that I ever will.”

Meltyre chuckled a little, and slightly heartened by the sound, Sterling opened the door.

The first thing he noticed, besides the warm light of the North Star’s interior, was…the song. Gods, they were singing Fina’s song, the whole tavern, the one she’d written to directly spite the order of St. Cuthbert.

_The paladin, a mighty man,  
A hero brave and strong,  
His honesty and courage was  
His magic all along…_

And if that wasn’t embarrassing enough, the man leading the singing was standing on the table, a tall animated elf with a booming baritone, whose voice brought the whole room alive—

A man who looked exactly like Sterling.

_The paladin was right, and so  
The order was all wrong!_

The room exploded into cheers at the end of the song, and the man on the table bowed, grinning beatifically. “Thank you! Thank you all!”

“Oh my gods,” Sterling groaned, massaging the bridge of his nose.

Meltyre snickered.

Sterling shot him a glare. “This isn’t funny.”

Meltyre covered his mouth to stop the laugh. “It’s a little funny.”

“Is someone here going to buy me a drink or what?” demanded the elf good-naturedly, leaping down from his table.

Sterling sighed. “Well. Here goes nothing.”

“I’ll uh…I’ll sit over there.” Meltyre pointed to an empty table in the corner. “Call me if you need me, okay?”

“I will.” Sterling straightened. “Thank you.”

“It’ll be okay,” Meltyre assured him, before leaving him quite alone.

Right.

Sterling approached the bar where Killiker had settled. The elf was currently saying to the dragonborn bartender, “One more, Miss, if you please.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Sterling said, taking a seat two down from Killiker, and then added, once he saw that the drink in question was wine with ice, “One for me, as well.”

The dragonborn looked perplexed by the request, but shrugged. “All right.”

“I thank you, kind sir,” Killiker said grandly, sweeping an arm out. “Perhaps I can repay you with a song.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Sterling said hastily. “I would prefer a conversation.”

“That can be arranged.” Killiker looked at him properly now, and paused.

Sterling very carefully did not flick a glance to Meltyre for reassurance. Instead, he swallowed his nerves. “Is something wrong?”

“Hm? Oh, no,” Killiker said, focusing back on the task at hand. “No, it’s only that…well, I would say we were related, if I didn’t know better.”

“If you didn’t know better?” Sterling modulated his tone carefully, so as not to seem combative.

“Well, I see you’re a human.”

Sterling glanced over his shoulder; the only person in the tavern he could see looking his way was Meltyre. Carefully, as if he was doing it by accident, he twisted off the ring that he kept always on his person, the one Meltyre had enchanted for him, and watched Killiker’s face until the elf’s eyebrows shot up. Hastily he shoved the ring back into its place.

Killiker’s levity had started to evaporate. He rested his hands on his knees to lean toward Sterling. “Then we are related, are we?”

“I should think so,” Sterling said, quietly. Gods, was he speaking loud enough to be audible?

“And I suppose you already know who I am.”

“I do.”

“Forgive me for not being able to return the favor,” Killiker said. It was a hint. His manners were as fine as anyone’s at court. Or perhaps he had seen Sterling for the son of privilege he was and was mirroring him.

Sterling cleared his throat. “I am Sterling Whitetower.”

Killiker’s frown turned to alarm. “Whitetower?”

Gods, this was going to be terribly awkward. “Yes.”

“You—how old are you?” Killiker demanded.

“Twenty-six.”

The bard looked briefly into space, tapping off fingers to count, and then looked back at Sterling. “And Lady Daria—”

“My mother,” Sterling provided.

“Oh my gods.” Killiker fell back against the counter, staring at him.

Sterling didn’t know what to say. It was perhaps, he thought, a distinct marker of how far he’d come as a person that he chose not to say anything.

In a moment, Killiker jumped to his feet and circled Sterling, examining him like a naturalist with a specimen. “You’ve struck me speechless, you know. That’s not an easy thing to do.”

Still Sterling said nothing, taking advantage of Killiker’s inspection to hold an inspection of his own. He was a little taller than this man. A little broader. Sterling was shaped—not like his mother, no, but like the men of his mother’s family. But the dark sharp eyes that examined him now, the curve of the brow, the purse of the lips; Sterling knew them like his own face, because that’s what they were.

When Killiker finally settled onto the stool next to Sterling, never once turning away, he said, “You hide the ears.”

The statement annoyed Sterling. “Of course. If I didn’t—”

Killiker waved the sentence away. “No, I remember what Daria told me. She didn’t marry old Sam because she cared passionately about a stuffy noble land baron. Folks find out you’re mine and both of you are out an inheritance.”

Some of the annoyance dissipated. Sterling nodded. 

“No hiding the rugged good looks, though,” Killiker said, attempting a smile.

Sterling sighed. “Pretty boy.”

“Beg pardon?”

“One of my friends calls me pretty boy,” Sterling explained.

Killiker grinned. “Your friend is right. We’re a pair of beautiful bastards.”

Sterling winced.

“Ah, poor choice of words,” Killiker backtracked, and then paused. “I met some of your friends, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

“That’s how you found me?”

“Yes.”

Killiker rubbed his chin. “I wondered why they asked about Daria. It was a funny connection to make.”

Sterling swallowed. “Then you really didn’t know about me.”

Killiker shook his head. “She never said anything. Nothing at all. I tried to see her again, you know, a couple years later, but she refused. I assumed it was because old Sam was home.”

Sterling looked away. Hearing the man the world knew as his father called “old Sam,” made him feel very young. He wasn’t that young, but the portraits of Sir Samuel that hung in his home portrayed a time when he was very young indeed.

“Does she hate me?”

The question pulled Sterling’s attention back. “My mother?”

Killiker looked genuinely mournful. “I wouldn’t blame her if she did, really.”

Sterling shook his head. “I asked her about...about you. Once. She said you were a friend to her, when she needed one. She doesn’t hate you.”

He frowned thoughtfully. “Is that all she said?”

“She wouldn’t say anything more.”

“I’m almost offended,” Killiker muttered, and then said, “I don’t know what you must think of me—”

“I don’t know what to think of you,” Sterling said.

“Truthfully, I don’t know what to think of you either,” Killiker said carefully. “I’m not...I’m not altogether disappointed, you understand. Just surprised.”

Perhaps that was the best Sterling could hope for. It was certainly better than he’d feared.

“I’m sorry,” Killiker offered. “If I had known...well. I wasn’t the same person, twenty-six years ago, but I hope I would have tried to...be there. If I had known.”

Something hard and cold in Sterling’s chest started to unravel. “Thank you for that.”

“I’m sure you have questions,” Killiker said.

“I have a few,” Sterling admitted.

Killiker hesitated, and then raised a hand to call the bartender over. “Excuse me, we’ll need…” He paused and turned to Sterling. “You’re no lightweight, right?”

“No?” Sterling said.

“Right, rum, five bottles if you please, and two cups.”

Sterling frowned. “Why are we…”

“Sterling, I may be putting on a very good show, but that is merely by virtue of my profession,” Killiker said. “Frankly, I am afraid. And this will help.”

“I’m not entirely sure—”

“Might help you be a bit less stiff yourself,” Killiker added, accepting the glasses from the dragonborn and pouring them both a glass.

Well that was inarguable. Sterling gave up and accepted the glass, and when Killiker threw back his whole drink, Sterling did the same.

“Right,” Killiker said, pouring them both another. “Go on, then.”

“Why did you leave?” Sterling asked.

“Oh, gods,” Killiker said, and downed his second drink. “Ahhhh, it was never meant to be a permanent arrangement. I was just passing through, you see.”

Sterling exhaled. “All right.” It wasn’t the answer he wanted, but it was what he expected. He emptied his own glass.

“My turn, I think,” Killiker declared.

“Are we taking turns?” Sterling said, suddenly bewildered.

“It’s only fair,” Killiker said, refilling his glass. “Are you the same Sterling Whitetower that was involved in that royal scandal?”

Sterling’s heart sank. “Yes. But it was a lie, I was falsely accused—”

“Well of course you were, people would have noticed the ears,” Killiker said, waving his hand at his own head. “But does this mean you have a reputation?”

“Only after the fact!”

“Ah, so, this is not a matter of ‘like father like son,’ then,” Killiker teased.

Sterling covered his face and groaned. He just knew he was blushing.

“Well I’m glad I didn’t pass on that particular foible,” Killiker said lightly. “But you turned out all right though, didn’t you? They say you’re a hero.”

“I was only trying to do what was right,” Sterling muttered.

“Hm.”

Sterling looked up. “What?”

Killiker mused, “I don’t think you got that from me.” He took a sip from his glass and said, “Your turn.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Ready?” Killiker asked, lifting his glass.

“Ready.” Sterling clinked his glass against Killiker’s, and they threw back their drinks in unison.

Killiker sighed in satisfaction, tapped his glass on the table, and uncorked the last bottle of rum. “You drink like a princeling, you know, with that pinky out.”

His…his son. His son scoffed. “You drink like…like rum is water.”

“Decent simile,” Killiker declared, letting the rum slosh out of bottle, landing mostly in their cups.

“You sound like Fina,” Sterling said.

Killiker lit up. “Fina! I like Fina! She’s my best friend.”

“Pfff, she’s my best friend,” Sterling insisted.

“We’re,” Killiker pronounced carefully, “fellow bards.”

Sterling tapped his own chest. “I’ve seen her dead.”

“You _what_?” Killiker leaned forward. “Elaborate on that.”

His son thought for a moment and then said decisively, “No.”

Killiker snorted. This idea hadn’t been one his paladin son probably approved of, but the only half-decent conversation he’d ever had with his own father was when they were both plastered, and he had been telling the truth when he said he was petrified. This was silly, and they’d both likely have absolutely shattering hangovers in the morning, but Killiker did not regret it.

“Whose turn was it?” asked Sterling.

“Mm, yours.”

“Right.” Sterling attempted to sit up straighter, thought he was listing a little to one side, and threw an accusatory finger at Killiker. “Do I have siblings?”

“Hoo, I hope not.” Killiker shook his head. “Not that I know of. But then again, I didn’t have any children this morning, and here we are.”

“Here we are,” Sterling agreed, in that strange stiff tone of his. Killiker had been trying to puzzle that out all night. He wasn’t angry or sad or bitter…

“My turn then.” Killiker considered for a bit. He’d learned quite a lot about this young man. He might look like his father, but he had clearly been raised by his mother. He even saw touches of old Sam’s influence, based on what he knew of the man, the focus on propriety and honor. There wasn’t much trace of freedom, of fun, and that was a bit sad.

“All right, I have one,” Killiker said finally. “We’ve established that the duchess was never a romantic interest.”

“Correct,” said Sterling, running his finger along the edge of his glass, as if he were trying to make it sing.

“Then is there anyone in your life who you might actually be caught in a scandal with?”

Sterling stopped his fidgeting and stared directly at his drink. “I don’t feel that way about people.”

Killiker’s eyebrows shot up. “No?”

“No. Never have.” Sterling threw back the drink.

“Well I _know_ you didn’t get that from me,” Killiker muttered.

Sterling pulled a face and held out his glass for refilling. “That doesn’t mean there’s not...anyone. Just that it’s not—not that.”

Killiker obliged, trying to follow the logic of that sentence. “So then...there is someone.”

“There could...possibly be.” He shot a glance that he probably thought was sneaky to the reedy wizard in the corner who’d been eyeballing them all night. The wizard, for his part, hastily began examining the ceiling.

“What, him?” Killiker said incredulously.

“Who?” Sterling said.

Killiker shook his head. “Never mind.” He was too drunk for this now.

Oh gods, he was really drunk, wasn’t he? Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea.

“My turn?” Sterling said.

“Yes.”

“I have to think of one,” he said.

Killiker sipped while his son thought. Sterling hadn’t called him by a name. Not Killiker, not Dad, not even an insult. He wanted to know everything about Sterling, even if it was as much morbid curiosity as it was rusty paternal instinct. What kind of person had he unwittingly helped bring into the world? One who was noble and honest, yes; one who had objectively made the world a better place with his heroism; one who apparently found wizards in ragged hats endearing; one who had a wealth of friends. One who was nothing like him.

“How are we alike?” Sterling said.

Killiker was briefly startled. “Can you read thoughts?”

“No, that’s Betty,” Sterling said inexplicably. “But you’re like...you’re like Fina, aren’t you? You’re fun and clever. You’re not like me.”

“You’re not fun or clever?” Killiker protested.

“Mm.” Sterling shook his head. “No.”

“But you must be,” Killiker said, surprising himself by how much that seemed to matter. “You can’t be all your mother.”

Sterling shrugged. “Meltyre said—Meltyre said maybe I’d find something out about myself, but maybe…” He looked genuinely mournful. “Maybe what I wanted was just to know.”

“To know?”

“To...to fill in a gap.”

That’s what he was, then, a gap. Not a father, not a friend, a gap. And really, it was a lot to expect to be anything more; if his son was a protagonist, he’d barely register as a side character.

Killiker swirled the rum in his glass. This was a sad thought, he couldn’t abide sad thoughts, especially not as drunk as he was now. “Who is Meltyre?”

And this was precisely the right question, because for the first time tonight, Sterling smiled. “Meltyre, you should meet Meltyre. Meltyre!”

At this, the wizard in the corner froze as if he’d been caught.

Sterling waved him over. “Come here, Meltyre.”

The wizard moved like a scared antelope, but he crossed the tavern to join them. “Um. Hello.”

“So!” Killiker said merrily, heartened by Sterling’s sudden change of mood, “the wizard in the corner is not planning to kill us?”

“No, I’m uh...I’m here for...m-moral support?” Meltyre said, as Sterling shoved his glass into his hand. “Uh, Sterling—”

“Drink with us,” Sterling insisted. “I know why I came here now.”

“Okay?” Meltyre did not take a sip. “That’s good.”

“You still haven’t made introductions, Sterling,” Killiker said, enjoying this new dynamic.

“I’m remiss in my duties,” Sterling said with sudden solemnity. “Meltyre is my dearest friend, and the court wizard to the throne, and a genius.”

“I’m not a genius,” Meltyre protested, but in a fond way, as if this was an old argument.

“He is very modest,” Sterling added. “And Meltyre, this is…” He paused.

Killiker braced himself.

“This is my father,” Sterling finished, and informed Meltyre, “We are not very alike.”

Killiker relaxed. He was genuinely touched. “I think my son takes after his mother.”

“Except in looks,” Meltyre offered.

“Yes, it’s really remarkable, isn’t it?” Sterling leaned forward and squinted at Killiker. “Uncanny.”

Killiker laughed. “You should have a drink with us. Innkeep, another glass?”

“Uh, sure, okay,” Meltyre said, sliding onto the stool next to Sterling, who immediately put a companionable arm around his shoulder. “You’re a bard, right?”

“I am!” Killiker accepted the glass and poured out a drink for Meltyre, which he accepted while passing Sterling’s back. “Sterling, shall I entertain your friend with a song?”

“Yes, certainly, do the—the sad one, about the knight errant,” Sterling said, gesturing with his glass.

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Killiker chuckled.

“You know it goes...it goes like…” Sterling paused, and then sang, _“Lady Ida wandered on a journey far from home…”_

Meltyre froze, wide-eyed, and looked from Sterling to Killiker.

Killiker’s breath caught in his throat. He sounded...his voice… “Ah. Yes. That one.”

Meltyre nudged Sterling in the ribs. “You should sing more. It’s nice.”

“Should I?” Sterling said, as if the thought had never occurred to him.

“You can sing this with me!” Killiker declared, shifting in his seat. “It would be a privilege. Meltyre, do you know this song?”

“Uh no—”

“You’ll catch on quick, the chorus is wonderful. Ready, son?”

“I’m ready,” Sterling said, with great gravity.

And together, they sang.

_Lady Ida wandered on a journey far from home,  
On her way she sought her family everywhere she roamed…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Thanks for reading! Catch me again once the spirit of podcasts possesses my brain.


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